Stitching
by Cinnamon Selkie
Summary: Summary under construction. Re-do fic. Slytherin!Harry. DH-compliant before re-do. Mentions/implied het, slash and femslash. ON HIATUS.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **First off I would just like to say that re-do fics are not my thing. _At all._ This particular story can be blamed entirely on Altyerre, whose attempts to demonstrate the error of my ways (by forcing me to read about half a billion of the annoying things) created a plot bunny whose definition of the word "no" is more than a little unusual...I would also like to remind you all that one of the Golden Rules of re-do fics is that the first part is always at least a little bit depressing, otherwise there's no reason for anyone to go back in the first place. So don't give up if the Prologue isn't your cup of tea, the rest of the story should be very different. Cinnamon.

**Disclaimer: **But _naturally_ I own Harry Potter. However could you doubt it?...You called me a lying _what!?_

**Prologue**

It had been almost twenty-four hours since the stunning finale of the Battle of Hogwarts, but in the half-light before dawn the scene of destruction looked worse than ever.

Walls and towers that had stood for millennia were smashed and crumbling in many places, and the entire castle was littered with wreckage from the battle and coated with innumerable—but thankfully unidentifiable—stains. From his vantage point at one of the partially shattered windows of Gryffindor Tower, Ron Weasley could see that the grounds looked in no better condition. Many of the trees in the Forbidden Forest had been uprooted, and closer to the castle dark shapes lay like the bodies of giants upon the ground. Knowing that they _were _the bodies of giants wasn't helping much.

So many people had died...Among them was Ron's own brother, Fred, Remus and Nymphadora "Tonks" Lupin and Colin Creevey, who shouldn't have been in the battle at all. There was even a small regret in Ron's heart for Vincent Crabbe, killed by the Fiendfyre that he himself had summoned in an attempt to destroy Ron and his friends. Crabbe was their age, the son of a Death Eater, and too stupid to ever consider that his father's way was not necessarily the right way.

Almost worse than the dead were the survivors; Percy Weasley had mended a two year long breach with his family just in time to join the battle, and was now devastated by the death of a younger brother he had not spoken civilly to for years. Fred's twin, George, already missing an ear from a previous encounter with Death Eaters would now forever be missing his other half.

Across the room on a heavily padded couch Harry Potter, the hero of the hour, year, decade, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Master of Death, the True Master of the Elder Wand and now Defeater of He Who Must Not Be Named—Lord Voldemort— lay exhausted, with his arms around a sleeping Ginny Weasley, Ron's little sister.

He wasn't sleeping though. After months on the run, hunting down Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes, after a battle which lasted until dawn, after being hugged and kissed and cried on by people whose names he didn't even know, Harry had returned with Ron to their old dormitory to sleep. He hadn't though. They had lain staring at the canopies over their beds until Ron had fallen asleep. When he had woken up Harry was still lying in the same position, unmoving. Ron hadn't said anything, though. What was there to say?

"Severus Snape wasn't yours," Harry had hissed at Voldemort. "Snape was Dumbledore's, Dumbledore's from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realised it, because of the thing you can't understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you Riddle?"

To the friends, enemies, acquaintances and strangers who surrounded them his voice had seemed calm, but to Ron, his best friend, it had been loaded with remorse and grief; grief for the senseless death of a man he had always hated, who he would never truly get a chance to know.

Ginny was clinging rather tightly to Harry, even in sleep. They had been apart for months, and who knew what horrors she, Neville, Luna and the other members Dumbledore's Army had undergone in a school overrun by Death Eaters during that time?

Seated in an armchair across from Harry and Ginny sat Ron's girlfriend, Hermione. She had got a lot more sleep than Harry, but it had clearly not been enough. She had kept her cool logic during the battle, keeping him and Harry on track, refusing to break down. Now it looked like the emotion had finally caught up with her.

Down in the Hospital Wing, Lavender Brown, Ron's ex-girlfriend, still lay unconscious. When she woke up she would have to come to terms with the knowledge that she would undergo the horrifying transformation to werewolf next full moon, and every full moon for the rest of her life. _If _she ever woke up. There seemed to be some doubt about that.

Other people aside from his immediate friends were suffering too. Forever etched in Ron's mind would be the first meeting between Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle after the battle. Crabbe and Goyle had been Malfoy's loyal followers throughout their years at Hogwarts, but in that final battle Crabbe had turned away from Malfoy, and Goyle had followed. Now Crabbe was dead, and neither of them seemed to have any idea how to act around the other.

"I'm sorry," Goyle had said, but Malfoy had turned away, and with a shock of disbelief Ron had realised that Malfoy was crying. He hadn't known that he was capable of such emotion.

There were so many complications that nobody seemed to have considered in the heat of the battle. Acting Minister Shacklebolt was already facing the first insoluble problem of his new position as he debated the fates of Draco Malfoy's parents.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had abandoned the Dark Lord before the final part of the battle, intent on finding their son. On top of that, Narcissa had unquestionably saved Harry Potter's life earlier that night, risking her own life by lying to Voldemort to protect him. Whatever her motivations had been, she had prevented the Battle of Hogwarts from being lost—lost by the side opposing Voldemort, that was.

Narcissa's sister, Andromeda Tonks, was expected to arrive later that day, bringing with her her baby grandson, Teddy. She had already lost her husband earlier in the year, and now she would mourn for the loss of her daughter and a son-in-law she had barely known. Parents that Teddy Lupin would not even remember.

_If only things had turned out differently, _Ron thought to himself. _If only I had known then what I know now. _It was the kind of useless thought that everyone has from time to time, disregarded by the world and soon forgotten by ourselves. This time though, something was listening.

_If only I could have it to do over again, _Ron thought, and his world began to spin.


	2. Resolutions

**A/N: **Here is part two and the first actual chapter. Because I am apparently an extremely weak person, plus I really really want to know what everyone thinks of the actual story. The Prologue was originally supposed to be tacked on to the start of the first chapter, like it was with Rules of Fair Trade, anyway. The Prologue doesn't count as a chapter at all anyway, so I am not really breaking my seven day rule at all...Oh, forget it, I am just an extremely weak person...I hope you like it. Cinnamon.

**Disclaimer: **But _naturally _Harry Potter belongs to me. However could you doubt it?...You called me a lying _what!?_

**Resolutions**

Ron Weasley awoke rather abruptly, and with all of the usual feelings of disorientation that this entails. Strangely, the confusion only increased as a sense of his surroundings began to filter through to his brain.

The room was eerily familiar. Familiar in that he had lived in it, slept in it, eaten and drunk and spilt things in it...And unfamiliar in that he hadn't seen it in several months, months that could only be described as life-changing. He had had the room decorated in honour of his favourite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, several years before he had realised just how badly their team colour (a violent orange) clashed with his brilliant red hair. By then he had had more important things to worry about, such as the future of the wizarding world.

From the bed, Ron could hear the clanking of the ghoul up in the attic, and he could see the Chudley Cannons posters on his walls, looking strangely new in the light of dawn spilling through the thin orange curtains. He could also see several editions of the favourite comic of his childhood, _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle, _which had rather lost its appeal for him after third year. Weird, he thought he'd chucked them out.

Underneath the comics he could see the cage in which he had once kept Scabbers—the rat he had inherited from his brother Percy after Percy had been given an owl for becoming a prefect—before Scabbers had turned out to actually be Peter Pettigrew, a member of the Order of the Phoenix who had become a Death Eater out of fear, betraying the Order and directly bringing about the Death of Harry's parents and the false conviction and twelve-year incarceration in Azkaban of Sirius Black.

Pettigrew had died earlier that year, quite literally by his own hand, although not in the usual sense of the phrase.

Ron had felt a strange sense of relief; even after all those years he had still felt very strange when he saw Pettigrew and realised that the two of them had shared a room for three years with him none the wiser.

His chain of thought was disturbed by a slight rustle on the pillow behind his head, and he turned to investigate.

It was only then that he began to seriously question the situation. Had he perhaps ingested a little too much Firewhiskey the night before? But no; even a lot too much Firewhiskey wouldn't explain _that._ Something stronger, then. Again, Ron had a feeling that he was missing something, but right then he didn't much care. So he did the only thing he _could _do, short of fainting.

Looking directly into the eyes of Scabbers the rat, Ron Weasley emitted a high-pitched and rather girlish shriek as he fell backwards out of bed.

-x-

"Did Ickle Ronniekins have a nasty dream?" cooed one of the twins, who Ron identified tentatively as Fred—tentatively because for one thing his eyes were squinched shut, making it rather difficult to identify anyone, and for another thing...Well, it just wasn't possible, was it?

_You are imagining things, _Ron told himself firmly. _The final battle got to you worse than you realised at the time, and now you've gone completely mental. Bonkers. Lost your marbles..._

"Maybe Precious Ronnie has hurted himself falling out of that nasty bed because of that nasty dream," responded the other twin, presumably George. "Have you hurted yourself, Ronniekins?" Ron opened his eyes to glare at him.

"I think he has, George. I think he's got a concussion. Why else would he be displaying such anger over our touching display of brotherly concern?"

The twins shook their heads sadly for a moment, and then Fred held up two fingers.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked, still in that tone of false concern.

"Four," Ron snapped, firmly ignoring the sense of nostalgia that rose in him at the twins' banter. _What on earth was going on?_

-x-

At first—after dismissing the possibility that _this _was the dream—Ron toyed with the idea that Fred had actually been right; that it had all just been a "nasty dream". Three verbatim conversations later and he realised that this was just what it seemed like, that his mind really had gone back to the body of his eleven-year-old self about three weeks before he had started Hogwarts.

Telling himself to remain calm and _not panic _didn't seem to be producing the desired results.

-x-

"...and Ginny, you shouldn't be encouraging them," scolded Percy, apparently practicing the new role of Prefect outside of school.

It didn't help that with Charlie off in Romania studying the peculiarities of dragons, and Bill off somewhere-or-other-else as a Curse Breaker for Gringotts, he was the oldest of the seven Weasley children still living at home. It was the kind of responsibility that he took very seriously indeed.

Not that he hadn't always been a goody-goody, but it had been getting worse by the year, and would continue to do so right up until he stormed out of the family home, declaring that he at least would make something of himself. Ron decided then and there that he would stop that happening this time around, as soon as he figured out a way to do it.

He suspected that it would be easier thought than done.

"They're going to completely destroy their lives if they keep going the way they have been," Percy continued his rant against the twins to his least receptive audience. Ginny snorted, and Ron sank back further into the shadows.

"It's you that's going to end up wrecking your life," she retorted, displaying surprising insight for a ten-year-old girl, and Ron thought he might have an ally when the time came to reconcile the family. "I can't imagine anything worse than spending my life slaving away at some boring desk job, which seems to be your only ambition in life. At least the twins know how to have _fun._"

She spun on her heel—Ron had never figured out how she did that—and stormed off, almost bumping into Ron as he pretended that he had just arrived at the bottom of the stairs.

-x-

Over the next few days, enjoying his mother's wonderful cooking—what they said about absence making the heart grow fonder was apparently true for food at least—Ron thought very hard about the situation that he had found himself in.

He had asked, however thoughtlessly, for a second chance, and for some reason it had been granted to him. He couldn't just throw that away.

A half-remembered conversation between Harry and Hermione during their long and tedious hunt for the Horcruxes told him that he had three options apart from those that could be immediately ruled out as being ridiculous.

The first option was to let history play out exactly as it had. Bearing in mind his newfound determination to make this opportunity count this was not really an option at all.

The second was to change everything, fixing things before they became problems, and deal with the consequences later. He wasn't sure he would like those consequences though, and something from the half of the conversation that he hadn't remembered properly was nagging at the back of his mind. Something about pre-emptive action and rendering all prior knowledge useless. Harry really had been bored if he'd willingly participated in an abstract conversation about time shifts. It occurred to Ron that perhaps someone else had done something similar to him in the past, whether intentionally or unintentionally. Hermione, for all her brilliance, didn't possess much imagination. She took an idea and analysed it from every angle, formulating theories, but the original idea had never been hers.

That left the third option, which was to keep as much as possible the same, but still change the important things. That way events wouldn't be changed to such an extent that he couldn't predict them, at least not right away.

That left deciding what qualified as "important", a far harder task than Ron would ever have suspected. Surely you should be able to recognise something that was important without having to even think about it? In a way, that was true. Stopping Pettigrew returning to Voldemort was vitally important, since it had been his return that had allowed Voldemort's own return to power, and the Battle of Hogwarts, something that Ron most definitely wanted to prevent. He wouldn't have any foreknowledge after that time anyway.

But there were other things too, like Percy. Ron had already decided that he needed to keep his family together, but he suspected that no one outside his immediate circle of family and friends would care one way or another, and they certainly wouldn't call it "important".

Important was all a matter of perception, Ron decided.

With this in mind, Ron created his list. It turned out to be quite short, but rather comprehensive.

He would prevent Pettigrew from returning to Voldemort, although to prevent scrambling events he would not act on this until third year, well after Sirius had made his own escape from Azkaban. Who knew what changes he would cause if he simply handed Pettigrew over to the Ministry right away? Quite aside from anything else Ron would have to explain how he knew what Pettigrew really was. Somehow "I just had a hunch" didn't seem to cut it when it came to mass murderers and the guilt or innocence thereof.

He would try to get Harry and Ginny together sooner this time. Last time he had been more hindrance than help in that regard, he admitted to himself, but all that would change. Reluctant as he had been to see it at the time, it was true all the same; they were perfect for each other. They had both been through so much, it was only natural that they would understand each other, far better than he or Hermione or anyone else would ever be able to do. Ginny, who had been possessed by the diary of Tom Riddle (later known as Lord Voldemort), who had opened the Chamber of Secrets and unknowingly unleashed a monster upon the school, who would have died down there in the Chamber if Harry hadn't got to her in time. Harry, who had faced Voldemort so many times, starting from that Halloween night when his parents had been murdered, when he was only a little over one.

He would make sure that Harry and Snape got on better this time, though how he was supposed to arrange that he had no idea. Snape had been expecting to hate Harry, just as he had hated Harry's father, and it would take something fairly extreme to change his mind. Well, Ron would just have to do his best. And surely that wasn't something significant enough that it would alter the way in which other events played out?

Painful as the thought was, he would try to minimise the animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin. In Malfoy's face as he turned away from Goyle, and Goyle's as he watched him do it, Ron had seen a truth that Albus Dumbledore had been failing to get across for years; the Slytherins were human too. Perhaps if he could cut down on the house rivalry and destroy some stereotypes then the Slytherins would see how stupid the prejudice against Muggles and Muggle-borns really was. Without his supporters, Voldemort was nothing. Well, not quite. Without his supporters Voldemort was one incredibly powerful and terrifyingly insane murderous psychopath, but he was just one murderous psychopath alone, at least. Not that Ron believed he could sway them all, just a few of the more intelligent Slytherins, perhaps, and through them their parents, if he was lucky. Dumbledore would be so proud of him if he knew. It was a pity that the whole idea made Ron's skin crawl.

There were probably other things that he would think of closer to the time, but for now the only other item on his list was to get the diary away from Ginny at the first opportunity, preferably before Riddle had a chance to possess her at all. That entire incident had completely screwed up his sister's mind, although she had hidden it well after the first little while.

Ron was her older brother, though, and the closest to her in age. It had been his job to look after her, just as it was the twins' to look after him, in their own messed up way, and Percy's to look out for them with his constant lecturing and prosing. Before that it had been Charlie's to look after Percy himself, which he had done by dragging him into a series of hair-raising stunts which had given him a permanent distaste for such "childish behaviour", and which could very well have led to his need to pontificate and the complete absence of his sense of humour. Ron had been a little too young to remember how Bill had looked after Charlie, but it had apparently led him to regard spending his entire life surrounded by humongous fire-breathing monsters as the mark of an ideal job.

Put like that, Ron rather hoped that Bill appreciated just how lucky he was to be the eldest. He didn't, though. Bill bemoaned the lack of an older sibling almost as often as Ginny wished aloud that she had been born an only child, or the eldest, or a boy, or at least with a sister. Anything but the youngest child and only girl in a family of seven children. Ron, as the youngest boy, could rather see her point now.

Be that as it might, though, it had been his job to protect her, and he had failed. This time he wouldn't. This time, he was going to make sure that she ended up happy at the other end, and not just alive, whether she liked it or not.

-x-

His goals set, even if he had no idea how to achieve them, Ron drifted off to sleep. In two weeks he would board the Hogwarts Express for the first time, with memories of the first first time to guide him.


	3. On The Hogwarts Express

**A/N: **I know I'm early to update, and I would apologise if I thought that anyone would object. I've been having a weird day, not in a good way, and I just want to take my mind off things. Any Australian readers will understand what I mean when I say that this is not a fun place to be listening to the news at the moment--extensive flooding in Queensland and extensive fires in New South Wales and Victoria. The rest of you I won't bore with details. I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and please review, I really need cheering up at the moment. Cinnamon.

**Disclaimer: **But _naturally _I own Harry Potter. However could you doubt it?...You called me a lying _what!?_

**On The Hogwarts Express**

"Mum, can't I go..." Ginny was whining, but Ron ignored her. Harry had shown up not long after this. He looked around, careful not to show that he was looking for someone in particular.

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right Percy, you go first."

_There. _Harry stood behind them, and a little off to one side, watching them uncertainly. Geez, he was tiny. For the first time Ron began to understand his mum's need to fuss and coo over Harry whenever he came to stay with them. He seemed so vulnerable, and Ron supposed that he had been, really. His own shyness had hidden it from him the first time though.

"Ron, what're you—? Oh," Ginny murmured, following his gaze to Harry. Before Ron could realise his mistake or stop her she had darted off towards him. _Damn._

Ron watched with alarm as Ginny, with none of the shyness she used to display around Harry, marched right up to him and introduced herself.

"Hi, I'm Ginny."

"Harry." He was watching her a little warily, as though expecting her to bite.

"Fred, you next."

"I'm not Fred, I'm George. Honestly woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you _tell _I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred."

"You're Muggle-born, aren't you?" Ron heard Ginny asking.

"Muggle-raised. My mum was Muggle-born, and her family raised me after she and Dad—" Harry broke off sharply, and Ginny, with rare tact, disregarded the last part of his little speech entirely.

"Well, don't worry about getting onto the platform, it's easy..."

"Ron, your turn," his mother prompted, and he realised he'd missed George going through the barrier. He walked through, worried about the change of events he'd just witnessed. That wasn't supposed to happen, not yet.

-x-

The scene on the platform with his family remained much as he had remembered it, and Ron was once again hit by a wave of nostalgia. This was ridiculous. He had spent most of his life watching the twins tormenting people, and it had driven him insane. It should at least be annoying him now.

"Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we met on the train?" Fred demanded.

"You know that black-haired boy who was talking to Ginny in the station? Know who he is?" George asked, almost bouncing with excitement.

"Who?"

"_Harry Potter!_" the twins chorused, delighted by their revelation. Ron glanced at Ginny, hoping to see the familiar expression of hero-worship cross her face, but she merely looked surprised, and a little thoughtful.

_Double damn. _From now on he would have to be a lot more careful not to change things.

-x-

Ron slid open the door to Harry's compartment and went in.

"Anyone else sitting there? Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head, and Ron sat down, trying to act convincingly shy around someone that he'd known for years.

"Hey, Ron."

The twins.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train—Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," he mumbled.

"Harry, did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

"Bye," the two of them said, watching as the twins left. Now, what had he said next? Ah.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" he blurted out.

The conversation that followed was quite painful to Ron. Had he really been this silly? He was fairly sure that he wasn't projecting nearly enough shyness and awe, but that was probably a good thing, overall. Harry looked awkward enough as it was.

They didn't really regain their old camaraderie until after the food trolley had arrived.

"They're not _really _frogs, are they?" Harry asked, eying the pack of Chocolate Frogs with great trepidation.

"No, but see what the card is, I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

So Ron explained Chocolate Frog cards to Harry for the second time, and watched as he got the Dumbledore card which would later provide the key to learning about the Philosopher's Stone.

"He's gone!" Harry exclaimed suddenly, and the look on his face was so comical that Ron had to work hard to keep from laughing. Surely watching Harry discovering the wizarding world hadn't been this entertaining last time? All he remembered was thinking that it was a bit weird having to explain stuff that was so obvious.

-x-

It was considerably later in the day that Neville interrupted. Ron reminded himself that he had never seen Neville before in his life.

"Sorry," Neville said, "but have you seen a toad at all?" They shook their heads. "I've lost him!" he wailed. "He keeps getting away from me!"

That had certainly been true, Ron reflected, struggling to maintain a sympathetic face while Harry assured him that the errant Trevor would return.

After Neville had left, Ron forced himself to enact the farce involving a fake spell the twins had given him and Scabbers. He was still having a great deal of difficulty treating Scabbers as he always had rather than throwing him out the window of the moving train as he wished. He suspected that only the reflection that someone as slippery as Peter Pettigrew would be bound to survive the fall prevented that particular course of action.

He had just raised his wand when Hermione barged in with Neville in tow. Ron had forgotten how ridiculous her teeth had looked before she got them shrunk in fourth year.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she announced. Ron didn't bother responding; she hadn't listened to him the first time anyway. Sure enough:

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

"Er—all right." He refrained from rolling his eyes. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow." Nothing happened.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" Hermione asked. "Well, it's not a very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells for practise and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard—I've learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough—I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

"Ron Weasley," said Ron, reminding himself that she had improved with age.

"Harry Potter," Harry responded, looking shell-shocked and more than a little worried.

"Are you really?" Hermione asked, although it was more of a statement. "I know all about you, of course—I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._"

"Am I?" Harry asked, still looking a bit dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me. Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad...Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better go change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

Ron leant back against his seat, exhausted. He didn't even have the energy to try to remember what he'd said after her departure last time. Not that it seemed to matter; Harry was searching frantically through his trunk, and Ron wondered a little fatalistically what he had changed this time, and how.

The what was easily enough answered, as Harry pulled out his textbooks and began to read intently, evidently determined to absorb as much information as possible in the minimum amount of time. The how seemed destined to remain a mystery.

Harry had just finished skimming _One Thousand magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore and had moved on to _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _by Quentin Trimble when the compartment door slid open once more to admit Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Is it true?" Malfoy asked. "They're saying down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," Harry responded, lowering the book, although he didn't seem to be looking at Malfoy but rather at Crabbe and Goyle. Ron realised that he had never before been treated to their talented impersonation of rocks.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," Malfoy said, apparently noticing Harry's curiosity. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron frowned. So far the exchange had been fairly civil; granted, Harry had only spoken one word, but there was more shyness than hostility in the way he was watching the three future Slytherins. What exactly had caused the enmity between them in the first place?

"And I'm Harry, Harry Potter." Ron was jerked out of his reverie, shocked, as Harry and Malfoy shook hands. Harry flushed ever so slightly. "But you already knew that. This is my friend, Ron Weasley," he added.

Malfoy's face grew slightly colder, but he inclined his head politely enough in Ron's direction.

"Weasley."

"Malfoy." What had changed? Nothing right up until Malfoy had introduced himself...

With slight embarrassment Ron remembered his own poorly concealed snigger of amusement at the name "Draco", and Malfoy's subsequent attack on his family.

_That _had caused six years of bitter hatred and rivalry?

Apparently so, because by the time Hermione returned again Harry and Malfoy were seated side by side opposite Ron, with Crabbe and Goyle flanking them.

This time she didn't come inside the compartment after seeing how many boys were seated there, and Ron was a little ashamed about the wave of relief that washed through him. She really had been quite intolerable.


	4. Sorting

**Disclaimer: **But _naturally _I own Harry Potter. However could you doubt it?...You called me a lying _what!?_

**Sorting**

Hagrid herded the first years towards the boats that would take them across the Black Lake towards the castle of Hogwarts. Arriving at the edge of the lake, Ron spent a moment too long reacquainting himself with the silhouette of Hogwarts, unmarred by battle, against the night sky. By the time he came to himself again Harry had already been appropriated by Malfoy, and the two of them had been joined in their boat by Crabbe and Goyle.

He would get Harry back as soon as the Sorting was over, he reminded himself; besides, hadn't he wanted to promote inter-house unity?

Harry and Malfoy had certainly been the greatest obstacle to that. With the two of them getting along so well that shouldn't prove much of a problem, at least not until Harry woke up to just what a bigoted poncy git Malfoy was. Really, things couldn't have turned out any better if he'd planned them, Ron told himself firmly.

They arrived in the underground harbour and followed a passage up to the front doors of Hogwarts without incident, save for Neville—or rather, Hagrid—finding Trevor. Inside, Professor McGonagall explained that Hogwarts was divided into four houses and about the house points system before leaving them to their own devices for the moment.

Ron looked at the terrified faces surrounding him and wondered why no one had decked Hermione. Her blathering about the spells which they might or might not be expected to perform as part of the "test" to determine their house couldn't be helping anyone's nerves.

Neither did the twenty or so ghosts which streamed through one of the walls, completely disregarding the frightened first years as they argued about Peeves.

The first years formed themselves into clusters around those who seemed least perturbed, namely Malfoy (Malfoy Manor almost certainly had its fair share of ghosts), Ron and another boy who Ron tentatively identified as Blaise Zabini, who would become a Slytherin. Ron only had time to note with annoyance that Harry was a part of the group around Malfoy before the ghosts finally noticed them.

"Move along now," McGonagall's voice interrupted at last. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

-x-

Ron discovered that watching his year mates being Sorted wasn't nearly as interesting the second time around, seeing as he knew where they were all going. He found himself wishing for a change, any change, just to make things interesting.

Apparently going back in time almost seven years hadn't been enough to teach him the importance of thinking before he—well—thought.

He got his wish minutes later, as both Patil twins were sorted into Gryffindor. Watching them squeal and hug each other, Ron noted an odd light in Padma's eyes, something which made him feel that perhaps she knew as well as he did that she'd been a Ravenclaw last time. But that wasn't possible.

He was still watching the twins as Harry's name was called, and as the hat deliberated. So he saw his own shock reflected quite clearly in Padma's eyes when the Sorting Hat screamed "SLYTHERIN!"

-x-

Apparently the Gryffindor dormitories adjusted themselves according to the number of occupants, Ron noted absently, staring at the space where Harry's four-poster bed should have been, which now contained an end each of Dean's and Seamus's. He found it disturbing, to say the least.

Perhaps the worst part of it all was that very few people seemed to have a problem with how the Sorting had gone. Aside from Ron himself, Padma Patil had seemed quite disturbed by it, spending the entire Welcome Feast staring intently at Harry as though trying to catch a glimpse of something unseeable in his innocent green eyes. Dumbledore had also appeared quite troubled, although Ron could not understand why. Of all the people he knew, Dumbledore seemed the least likely to succumb to house prejudices when it came time to judge a person's worth. From Ron's perspective, Harry in Slytherin was unlikely to be any different in personality to Harry in Gryffindor.

Which brought him to the crux of the matter. Why in Merlin's name had the Sorting Hat chosen to change things? Sure, Harry and Malfoy were getting along better this time, but Ron couldn't see that leading Harry to actually _ask _the hat to place him in Slytherin, which was the only thing which could sway the hats' judgement.

Where _had _he heard that from? Not Hermione, certainly, although it was exactly the sort of trivial information that she _would _know. Again, Harry's face flashed into his mind, but he dismissed it. Why would _Harry_, of all people, take an interest in that mangy old hat and its twisted reasoning?

For whatever reason, Harry was a Slytherin now, leaving Ron's grand plan with some rather serious design flaws. Keeping things the same wherever possible was no longer going to be an option.

In the end he decided to continue more or less as he had begun. While Harry Potter being Sorted into Slytherin was a momentuous—and in Ron's opinion horrifying—event in and of itself, it seemed unlikely to have a significant impact upon the major incidents of the next few years.

Professor Quirrel, for example, would still be trying to get the Philosopher's Stone for Lord Voldemort this year. Lucius Malfoy was unlikely to take Harry's house into account when he decided to plant Tom Riddle's diary and re-open the Chamber of Secrets next year, and his feelings on Blood Traitors in general and the Weasleys in particular would still cause him to plant it on Ginny. Scabbers the rat was still Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black would still escape from Azkaban Prison to kill him at the beginning of their third year...

That was where he intended for the new timeline to really diverge. If he had his way then Pettigrew would never escape to Voldemort, and never bring him Bertha Jorkins. Bartemus Crouch Junior would remain under his father's watch...and Harry Potter would be able to enjoy the Triwizard Tournament from the stands instead of as the fourth competitor. Not to mention that he would be able to get away from the Dursley's if his godfather was acquitted; Ron couldn't see Sirius allowing Harry to stay with them a moment longer than absolutely necessary, or Harry allowing himself to be left, for that matter.

In many ways it was actually a good thing that it had happened this way...Really, it was. There was already enough deviation that Ron wouldn't have to be constantly watching out for slight variations in his reactions that might stuff things around. He'd got all that out of the way early on...


	5. Potions

**A/N: **In an anonymous review, someone commented that this was going to be an awfully long fanfic if I went through Harry Potter scene by scene. I am not going to do that, particularly since various changes are going to completely eliminate more and more scenes the further into the fic we get, and add in others, but I will admit that this will be an awfully long fic, considering that I plan to take it to just after the defeat of Voldemort, whenever that may turn out to be in this timeline. You have been warned...That said, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I think that it is my favourite so far. Cinnamon.

**Disclaimer: **But _naturally _I own Harry Potter. However could you doubt it?...You called me a lying _what!?_

**Potions**

"Remind me why we're here again?" Dean grumbled, pretending to peer through his telescope at the night sky.

Ron grunted in response. Not since the start of this whole going backwards in time thing had he felt so in sympathy with his eleven-year-old self, or closer to his classmates. Midnight was the wrong time to be looking at the stars, trying to identify virtually identical points of light. Come to think of it, there wasn't really a right time. But still.

Re-starting all of his classes had been...odd, to say the least.

Astronomy, obviously, was not the highlight of his week.

Charms had been difficult, not because he couldn't perform the magic, but because he _could_, and he shouldn't have been able to. Flitwick's eyes were far sharper than Ron had ever given them credit for, and there had already been three almost slip-ups in Charms alone.

And there had been one genuine slip-up in Transfiguration, when Ron had completely lost his temper with Hermione and perfectly transfigured his matchstick into a needle. McGonagall had been delighted, and Ron had been horrified. So much for not changing things. It had taken Hermione down a peg or two, though. After Charms she had been expecting to top every class; as indeed she would have done. Despite all of the complications it might—or rather, would—cause, Ron was still convinced that the look on Hermione's face had been worth it all.

Herbology was much as it had always been. Even six years of classes wasn't enough to allow him to relax in class, since the plants didn't care how much experience he might have had and would take full advantage of any inattention, no matter what its reason.

Defence Against the Dark Arts...Well. The first time around it had been something of a let-down; potentially the most interesting subject offered to first years, turned into a complete and utter joke by an incompetent teacher. This time around it didn't seem like such a joke. Listening to theories about Quirrell's turban, ranging from the twins' insistence that it was stuffed full of garlic to ward off a vampire that he had met in Romania to his own version about the African prince and the zombie was a lot less entertaining when you knew that the turban actually concealed Voldemort's face sticking out the back of his head. Only Harry had been treated to that particular vision, fortunately, or Ron would probably have run screaming from the room the first time Quirrell smiled nervously at him.

It was almost as disturbing as knowing that your pet rat was actually an unconvicted mass-murderer and the reason why one of your best friends was an orphan. Almost.

They hadn't had History of Magic yet, but Ron didn't need to take the class to know exactly what would happen. Binns would drone, Hermione would take painstaking notes and the rest of them would catch up on all the sleep that they were currently missing out on. Ron wondered if perhaps the timetable had been intentionally designed that way. It was possible.

And then, of course, there was Potions. Double Potions with the Slytherins, last thing on Friday. The first and (at least until Flying lessons started) only lesson that Ron would be sharing with Harry the Slytherin. Which reminded him that he was supposed to be bringing Snape and Harry together, or at least stopping them from hating each other. Easier said than done, he was sure.

-x-

"Outta my way, snake," one of the Gryffindor first years snarled at one of the Slytherin first years as their classes collided on their ways to and from Herbology respectively.

So much for house unity. Although he hadn't really done much about that yet. Some things took time.

"Watch where you're going, asshole," the Slytherin retorted cleverly.

There followed a round of pushing and shoving by the Gryffindors and pinching and elbowing by the Slytherins. Ron wondered if he had displayed this level of immaturity, and then wished that he hadn't as it provoked several memories that showed that actually, this _was _mature. Very few of them had learned any decent hexes yet, otherwise this encounter would probably have been a lot messier. Later ones would be, if something wasn't done.

"Ron! There you are!" Harry exclaimed, passing through the main doors and into the Entrance Hall, where the main scuffle was taking place. Harry always had been one for stating the obvious.

"Hi Harry. How have classes been?"

"Good. Great. Quite fascinating actually. We had our first History of Magic lesson yesterday, and—Oh, Ron, this is Blaise Zabini and Draco Mal—Actually, you two have already met, haven't you. Blaise, this is Ron Weasley. Ron have you had Potions yet? Our first lesson isn't until tomorrow afternoon, it's the only class we haven't had yet. What's it like?"

"Wouldn't know. Our first isn't until tomorrow afternoon too, we must be sharing it." Suddenly Ron realised that this was the opportunity he had been looking for. "My brothers have told me a bit about it, though. You guys know Professor Snape?"

Harry and Blaise exchanged glances, but Ron wasn't sure what they meant. Blaise shrugged.

"He's the Head of Slytherin," he offered.

"He's a friend of my father's," Malfoy volunteered.

"Well, the twins say that he's a really great teacher," Ron lied. "A bit grouchy at first, but really knows a lot about Potions. His bark is worse than his bite, and all that. The twins really like him," he concluded a little lamely. Blaise and Harry traded another look, longer, and this time it was Harry who shrugged.

"Whatever. We'll see you there, if we don't see you before that. Have fun in Herbology," Harry said, with a smirk that Ron had always regarded as being a purely Slytherin trait. But then, Ron reminded himself, Harry was a Slytherin now. The thought wasn't any more palatable than it had been when they were first Sorted.

-x-

"Ickle Ronniekins!" George hailed him loudly as their exhausted and rather battered class filed into the Gryffindor common room later that afternoon. "Just come from Herbology, have we?"

"Of course he has George. What else could possibly make him look that dreadful?" Fred responded for him.

"You mean he wasn't born like that?" George quipped back.

"Ha. Ha. Shouldn't you two still be in class?" snapped Ron, in no mood to deal with the twins idea of humour. The nostalgia had apparently worn off, leaving only frustration and annoyance in its place.

"Such a temper," chided Fred. "You think Herbology is bad..."

"...Just wait until you get to Potions. Sprout and her army of demon plants have absolutely nothing..."

"...On Snape and that nasty tongue of his."

"That stare."

"That _glare_."

"That dreadful hair!" they chorused.

"And he favours the Slytherins dreadfully," Fred resumed.

"Still a nasty old git to them, though."

"Which is why we warned Harry about him, didn't we George?"

"We certainly did, Fred."

"That poor misguided child was actually looking forward to Potions, would you believe?"

"We put that idea right out of his mind..."

"...Or we tried to, anyway, I don't think he was really that interested in our tales of horror, though."

"He said that he thought that Potions seemed like a fascinating subject," George lamented.

"We told him to tell us that again after he'd endured a Double with Snape," Fred shuddered. "Ron, are you alright?"

"You look very pale all of a sudden," George observed.

Ron closed his eyes, and told himself to take deep, calming breaths. No wonder Harry and Blaise had looked at him so strangely.

-x-

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Across the dungeon classroom, Ron could see Harry following Snape's every word and gesture with his mouth slightly open. Apparently he really did find the subject "fascinating", now that he actually knew something about it.

And apparently Snape had noticed Harry's intent gaze.

"Potter!" he said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Two seats over from Ron, Hermione's hand had shot into the air. Harry looked nervous.

"The Draught of Living Death, sir?" he asked hesitantly, clearly reluctant to expose himself to possible ridicule. As well he might be. Snape's ridicule was not something to be taken lightly.

Only, as it happened, Harry was correct. Ron saw Snape's hard face relax slightly in surprise and—pleasure?

"Very good, Mister Potter. And where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?"

Harry bit his lip, and Hermione jiggled in her seat.

"I don't know, sir."

"Very well then. Can you tell me the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry sat up straighter.

"They're the same thing, aren't they?" he asked.

Hermione slumped back into her seat, only to magically revive at Snape's next words.

"Can anyone tell me where they would look for a bezoar? Yes, Mister Zabini?"

"Potions supply cupboard, sir?" Blaise suggested. Snape's jaw ticked slightly, and Ron wondered whether he was about to kill Zabini or just trying not to laugh.

"Miss Granger?"

"In the stomach of a goat, sir!" Hermione exclaimed, thrilled to finally get the chance to answer a question. "It is a small stone, and it is one antidote to the majority of poisons."

Snape gave a slight nod.

"Indeed. Why is no one copying these down? You have five minutes, then I shall divide you into pairs and you will attempt to make the extremely simple boil cure potion featured on page eight of _Magical Draughts and Potions_..."

Ron sat there, dazed, until Seamus nudged him sharply in the ribs. What on earth had just happened?


	6. Flying

**A/N: **So I have given in to your demands, and updated waaayyy to quickly...Enjoy it while it lasts, kids, I'm going to be busy with moving to uni for the first time in the next few days. Cinnamon.

**Disclaimer: **But _naturally _I own Harry Potter. However could you doubt it?...You called me a lying _what!?_

**Flying**

It was with mixed feelings that Ron read the notice announcing the beginning of the only lesson other than Potions that they would share with the Slytherins that year; Flying lessons.

On the one hand, he would get to see Harry, something that happened all too infrequently now that Harry was a Slytherin. Whatever happened, Ron didn't want to lose that friendship. He and Harry had been through so much together, even if Harry had no knowledge of any of it. They would still go through a lot together. Harry was still the Chosen One, whether he knew it or not. He was still destined to face Voldemort in the end, probably several times over. He would need his friends beside him, just as he had last time, and Ron placed no dependence upon the Slytherins being there when Harry needed their support, especially given how many of their parents were Death Eaters. Ron was not going to let Harry go through the upcoming battle alone.

On the other hand, he would have to watch Harry interacting with the Slytherins, being friendly with them, knowing that in another life he had hated them every bit as much as Ron had; more, in the case of Malfoy. It was quite bad enough in Potions, watching him smile adoringly at Snape, hanging on his every word, even though he had _wanted _them to get along better this time around. Severus Snape had been—was, Ron reminded himself, with a bit of confusion—a slimy git, but when push came to shove he had come down on the right side of the fence. That counted for a lot, in Ron's book.

It occurred to Ron that he should really arrange some way of seeing Harry outside of classes and the occasional wave in the hallways.

The Slytherins, including Harry, were already there when Ron and the rest of the Gryffindors arrived for their joint flying lesson, milling around in small groups. Malfoy stood with Crabbe and Goyle, and Ron felt a surge of relief that at least Harry didn't seem to have become best friends with him. That would simply have been too much. Instead, Harry was sitting on the ground beside Blaise Zabini, looking up at Pansy Parkinson with one hand shading his eyes. Ron saw her roll her own eyes at something he had said, and the three of them laughed.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" Madam Hooch barked as soon as she arrived. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Everyone showed the exact same amount of proficiency as they had last time around, barring Ron, of course. There was simply no way to fake skill or lack of skill with a broom, and while he hadn't exactly been hopeless in first year, and had in fact had several years of practice, he still had not shown anything approaching Harry's brilliance with absolutely no experience whatsoever.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch said at last, and Ron braced himself for Neville's accident. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle—three—two—"

Neville, as nervous as last time, kicked off before Madam Hooch's lips had touched the whistle.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but there was no chance of that happening. Ron averted his face slightly, and reminded himself that Neville had been fine.

"Broken wrist," Madam Hooch diagnosed after bending over Neville's prone form for a moment. "Come on boy—it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of them, before delivering a parting shot that Ron now recognised as being born out of concern for Neville and worry for the rest of them.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on, dear."

The instant they were out of earshot Malfoy burst into the same nasty laughter that he had last time, and Ron held his breath, wondering who Harry would side with in the coming argument, or if he would find a way to play peacemaker.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" Malfoy asked, triggering a whole round of jeers from the rest of the Slytherins. Harry and Zabini traded smirks, apparently looking forward to the storm that was obviously brewing. Harry had always spent far too much time encouraging the twins' antics, now that Ron came to think of it.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati Patil snapped, tossing her long black hair. Padma rolled her eyes.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson mocked, tossing her own dark hair in turn, face hard. "Never thought _you'd _like fat little cry babies, Parvati." She had said the same thing last time around, but then Ron had dismissed it without thought. Now he wondered how the two of them knew each other, and how deep the animosity ran between them. It was certainly more than house rivalry in her voice, and more than house rivalry in Parvati's eyes as she glared back.

"Look!" exclaimed Malfoy suddenly, unwittingly diffusing a somewhat tense confrontation. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." He held up the Remembrall. Ron saw Harry eyeing it curiously, obviously not about to demand its immediate return.

"That doesn't belong to you, Malfoy," Hermione piped up unexpectedly. "Give it back."

"Oh, is it yours?" Malfoy sneered. "I don't think so, Granger. Perhaps I should leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect—how about—up a tree?"

Harry, obviously fed up with the whole situation, snatched the Remembrall out of Malfoy's hand from behind.

"Must you be such a bitch?" he sighed. "Here, Ron, give this to Longbottom," he said, tossing the Remembrall over Malfoy's head and straight into Ron's Keeper-trained hands.

Malfoy looked furious, and for a moment Ron wondered whether he was going to hit someone, or try to get it back.

"Draco, didn't you tell me you were thinking of trying out for the Quidditch team next year?" Pansy asked, and Draco turned to answer her, distracted. Ron could have sworn he saw a look of complicity pass between her and Harry, but it was gone so fast that he doubted that anyone else would have caught it.

-x-

So it was that by the time Madam Hooch returned from taking Neville to the hospital wing the rest of her charges were standing safely on the ground, although they had divided up into house groups once more, and the house groups into smaller groups. Ron was talking to Seamus and Dean, and the Gryffindor girls were all sitting in a circle on the grass not far away. Pansy was still holding Malfoy in conversation, her gaze occasionally flicking over to where Harry and Zabini were standing several metres from the group, also just talking, although there was a mischievous light in their eyes which reminded Ron strongly of Fred and George.

"Alright, everyone, let's try that again," Hooch said firmly. "I don't want any more accidents, so everyone pay attention and _be careful. _Flying is a dangerous activity even for those of you who know one end of a broom from the other, which most of you _don't. _Mount your brooms..."

Fifteen minutes later they were all flying, some better than most. Hermione and Lavender Brown were both squeaking in fright whenever someone came within three metres of them or they managed to turn their brooms. Parvati and Pansy were apparently involved in some sort of competition with their brooms, although Ron, watching them for a couple of minutes, realised that it had very little to do with seeing who was the better flyer.

Harry, meanwhile, had discovered the joys of flying for the first time, and he and Malfoy were flying high above the rest of them, involved in the same aerial acrobatics that had made Slytherin vs. Gryffindor games so interesting to watch.

"Hermione, you've got to stop clutching at the broom," Ron said, giving in to the inevitable at last. "The broom is going to respond to everything you tell it to do, regardless of whether or not it's what you actually want it to do. You need to relax..."

Parvati, apparently losing whatever mind-game she and Pansy had been playing, followed his lead and moved to help Lavender, who was experiencing a similar problem. Pansy did a little twirl of triumph, then looked around to see what she could do next. As she glanced up a rather startled expression crossed her face, and she darted sideways. Ron, following the direction of her gaze, saw Draco and Harry shooting towards the ground at a speed far in excess of what Ron would have deemed possible on a school broom.

The two of them braked just inches away from crashing, and tumbled gently off their brooms onto the ground.

"That was _fun,_" gasped Harry, still trying to catch his breath, and Ron saw Draco nodding his head in agreement. A look passed between them, one that Ron had seen them share before, during matches, but had never been able to interpret.

It was joy, pure and unadulterated by any feeling of animosity between them. In the air, they were not enemies, or friends, or even rivals; just two children who loved to fly. Ron couldn't understand how he had never been able to see it before.

**A/N: **Review?


	7. Studying in the Library

**A/N: **First off I would like to apologise to anyone who is reading Rules of Fair Trade as well as this. I know that I should be updating that first, but the fact is that I have yet to start Chapter Nine. Getting settled at university is taking a lot out of me, and writing simply isn't possible at the moment. For the same reasons I would like to apologise in advance to anyone who is following this story, as I have no idea when the next update will be happening. Rest assured that I have _no _intention of abandoning either story, but for the next few days at least I am going to be extremely busy. That said, I hope you like this chapter, and please review. Cinnamon.

**Disclaimer: **But _naturally _I own Harry Potter. However could you doubt it?...You called me a lying _what!?_

**Studying in the Library**

It was a couple of weeks before Ron remembered that he was trying to arrange a way of seeing Harry outside of classes, and several days after that before an opportunity presented itself.

He and Hermione were sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, working on a Transfiguration essay.

"I can't _find _it," Ron muttered, flicking through one of several books that they (Hermione) had got out of the library to help with an obscure reference. Ron, like Harry, was beginning to understand the advantages of actually studying (not to mention that it was virtually the only way he would get to spend any amount of time with Hermione), but at this moment, they were far outweighed by the disadvantages. For once, Hermione seemed to agree.

"This would be so much _easier_ if there were more of us looking," she murmured crossly, running an impatient hand through her hair and causing it to frizz still further. "This is going to take forever."

Ron stared at her.

"Hermione, you are a genius!" he exclaimed, and she flushed.

"How do you mean?"

"Oh. Um, nothing. I was just thinking that maybe we could create some sort of study group, that way we could all help each other with the subjects we're having problems with, and when we have something like this—" He gestured at the book-laden table "—to deal with, it won't take as long."

Hermione grinned, delighted. Well, of course she would be.

She spun around instantly, apparently searching for someone.

"Hey Padma! Do you and Parvati want to help us arrange a study group?"

Padma looked up, startled, but then shrugged.

"Sure, why not?"

"And while we're talking, do you have any idea where we're supposed to find the information for the Transfiguration essay?"

Padma blinked, and then laughed.

"Have you looked in the Transfiguration textbook?"

"Oh."

-x-

Ron spent the next couple of days trying—and failing—to corner Harry, or any one of his Slytherin friends. It was as though they were deliberately avoiding him, he thought with annoyance, though he admitted to himself that it was unlikely.

It wasn't until Wednesday that he finally caught one, and that was through no planning of his own. Really, if detention with Snape was all that it took, he could have done it a lot sooner.

Although Pansy Parkinson would certainly not have been his first choice, she was going to have to do.

"Who else is involved?" she asked, bored, as the two of them sorted through Potions ingredients for the third year class the next day.

"Me and Hermione, like I said, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Patil twins—"

"Doesn't sound like my kind of thing at all," Pansy interrupted, and Ron reminded himself to ask Parvati—or better still, Padma—what exactly had caused the bad blood between Pansy and Parvati. "I'll let the others know, though." She turned slightly away from him—conversation over. Ron didn't mind though; he had got what he needed from her, and talking to Pansy Parkinson was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

-x-

It wasn't until they gathered in the library the next day that Ron realised that Gryffindor was rather over-represented by Hermione, Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Neville Longbottom and Ron himself. He was actually rather relieved about this, and consoled his conscience with the knowledge that at least here there would be people from all four houses; unlike the DA back in fifth year.

Although no one from Slytherin had arrived yet, Ron was sure that Harry at least would appear in his own good time.

From Hufflepuff came Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan, and from Ravenclaw a girl called Mandy Brocklehurst, who Ron remembered only faintly, and Padma Patil. Actually, Padma was a Gryffindor too now.

They chatted quietly for several minutes, pushing tables together, before Blaise Zabini appeared with Harry in tow, Harry looking quite cross about the whole thing, since he had apparently been down at the Quidditch pitch when Blaise belatedly remembered their plans for the day.

And informed Harry of them for the first time.

It was not long after that that Ron realised that the downside of starting a study group was that he would be expected to study.

All in all, it was not a particularly auspicious start.

-x-

They gathered again the following Thursday, and this time Ron had the forethought to bring along a Quidditch magazine to hide behind a suitably thick tome.

For this reason alone he found it a whole lot more enjoyable.

Most of the same people turned up, although Parvati and Lavender apparently felt the same way about it as Ron had, since they seemed to be giving it a miss.

The eight of them—aside from Ron—who remained settled down to study with a vengeance. There was a particularly nasty Potions essay due the next day, and even Hermione had been having trouble with it. For its horrible difficulty alone Ron remembered it from his first first year, and he had already successfully completed it.

Not wishing to draw attention to this somewhat suspicious fact he settled down behind _Common Concoctions, Volume IV, _and began to read an article about the _Nimbus 2000_, Harry's first broom. He reflected that it would be outdated the following year by the _Nimbus 2001, _which Lucius Malfoy would buy for the entire Slytherin Quidditch team,and the year after that by the _Firebolt, _which Sirius would buy for Harry after his _Nimbus 2000 _came out on the wrong side of a disagreement with the Whomping Willow.

Much of which would probably occur differently now. Harry had already not made the Gryffindor team as the youngest Seeker in a century. Sometimes being from the future really sucked.

-x-

Ron was absorbed in trying to remember how the dispute on the brake regulations had been resolved when someone first suggested that what they really needed was an older student to help them, so he was never later able to remember who to blame for it. However it was most certainly Hermione who he blamed for suggesting a Ravenclaw.

Of course, everyone embraced the idea at once, and immediately turned to Mandy Brocklehurst, the only Ravenclaw among them. She shrugged apologetically.

"I don't really know any of the older students that well yet," she explained.

Harry fidgeted slightly, and they turned toward him instead.

"I think I might know someone," he offered.

"You _think _you _might?_" Blaise questioned. "Either you do or you don't. Who is he?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I _do _know someone, who I _think might _be interested in helping us. But I'd have to ask." He turned back to the parchment in front of him, apparently believing the conversation to be over. He was wrong.

"Well?" prompted Hermione, and Harry glanced up again.

"You want me to get her now?" he asked, a little startled, and Ron felt the first stirrings of unease, and tried to squelch it. Really, he was being ridiculous. There were six years of Ravenclaw girls above them, and Harry could have encountered any one of them.

_Not on the Quidditch pitch, which is where he seems to be spending most of his time lately, _that annoyingly logical voice that made itself heard at the most inopportune moments niggled in the back of his mind, but he dismissed it. Harry hadn't started fancying her until third year, and he refused to believe that he could have done anything that would cause something that went so far against everything that he was working for.

Well, not _everything, _but still.

"Alright, I'll go find her then," Harry sighed, standing up and stretching before giving Hermione a rather disgruntled look.

-x-

By the time Harry returned, now with Cho Chang in tow, Ron had convinced himself through a series of rather warped reasoning that she couldn't possibly be the "she" to whom Harry referred, so it came as a rather nasty shock to him.

To his further annoyance she proceeded to clear up all of the problems that they were having with Potions, and in the process brought up a rather vital point which Ron had completely missed in his essay. Which meant that he would have to re-write the whole thing from scratch.

She then halved the time that they would normally have taken to deal with History of Magic, smiling modestly and becomingly at their gratitude, then agreed to return the following Thursday, before turning to Harry.

"So I'll see you tomorrow then?" she asked sweetly, and it was all Ron could do not to scream with frustration. How the hell was Harry supposed to hold out against that?

-x-

"What's tomorrow?" Ron asked casually, as soon as Cho and several others had left.

"Hmm? Nothing special, why?"

"She just said she'd see you tomorrow."

Harry shrugged.

"I've been helping her practise, and I said I'd meet her tomorrow after classes have finished."

"Practise?"

"For Seeker. She's only the reserve this year, but the actual Ravenclaw Seeker's in seventh year, so it's pretty much a given that she'll be playing in games next year. She's really nervous about it, so I promised that I'd spend as much time helping her practise as I could."

Ron began to wish that he hadn't asked.

-x-

Ron paced around and around his dorm, pausing every so often to kick unoffending items of clothing or furniture. Nothing could more surely stuff up Ginny's chances with Harry than Cho Chang.

Well, it wasn't necessarily a complete disaster. After all, their relationship had fizzled fairly quickly last time. Perhaps he should actually be encouraging them to get together sooner, so that he would get over her sooner.

Oh, who was he kidding? Their main problem last time had been an inability to communicate, caused mostly by not knowing each other well enough to prevent shyness and awkwardness. That, and the fact that both of them were still wrapped up in her boyfriend's death. The first was obviously not going to be an issue by the time that Harry became old enough to think of dating, and Cho probably hadn't even _met _Cedric yet. Without those things to deal with there was a very real possibility that they could make things work between them.

He mentally apologised to Ginny, promising to sort this mess out somehow, before realising that Ginny might not even care at this point. She and Harry had barely met, and she had completely failed to obsess about him the way she had last time.

He let out a bellow of frustration as his foot connected particularly hard with one of the posts of his bed.

"Are you alright?" a concerned voice asked from the doorway, and Ron turned to see Dean Thomas regarding him warily.

"No," he snapped, annoyance merely exacerbated by the pain. He paused. "Yes, I'm fine," he contradicted himself, flopping back onto his bed with a sigh of defeat.

Really, what was he supposed to say?

"_No, I am not alright. I have travelled back seven years in time, and am experiencing complications with matchmaking my sister to a guy she has barely met so that she doesn't have to waste time on two guys who she _hasn't _yet met—once of whom, incidentally, happens to be yourself."_

No, Dean wouldn't find anything strange about that explanation at all.


	8. Hallowe'en

**A/N: **I know that this chapter has taken _forever, _almost literally, and for that I grovel at your feet. All excuses sound lame and unconvincing, especially to me, so I will just say a HUGE sorry to anyone who's been waiting for this update. This chapter is dedicated to **popping corn**, without whose chapter five review this chapter would have taken even longer, if such things are possible. I hope you like what I've done with it. Cinnamon.

**Disclaimer: **But _naturally _I own Harry Potter. However could you doubt it?...You called me a lying _what!?_

**Hallowe'en**

As the year progressed, Ron found that his days were dividing themselves more and more into two categories; days when he understood his year mates and days when he didn't.

On the first kind of day he enjoyed their company immensely, getting great pleasure out of ignoring Hermione, laughing at fart jokes and starting improbable rumours about Professor Sprout's nocturnal activities. On days like this he sometimes found himself wondering how on earth he could already know something, and feeling quite stunned when he remembered.

On the second kind of day their immaturity alienated him, and he felt excluded by the ease with which they could understand each other. Half of what they were saying might as well have been a different language for all the sense that he could make of it. It was days like this when he increasingly found himself seeking out Hermione, or occasionally Padma, when Hermione herself became too wrapped up in events which held little to no interest for him. For some reason that never seemed to happen with Padma; he speculated vaguely that it might have been something to do with being a Ravenclaw.

Hallowe'en was already bidding fair to become the second sort of day.

-x-

The day had started out pleasantly enough. Ron awoke to complete silence, the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the school, and the knowledge that he didn't have to get up for another hour. Turning onto his other side he snuggled down under his covers again, his eyes drifting closed. Life didn't get much better than this.

-x-

Twenty minutes later it went downhill dramatically, as he woke up once again, this time to the feeling of something heavy landing on his head, and the yells and grunts of his dorm mates as they battled it out with pillows, bed covers, textbooks and anything else that came to hand.

Seven years earlier, or even five, he would have happily joined in; yesterday he would have joined in, if it came to that. Today, he just wasn't in the mood.

Grabbing a set of clothing he headed for the bathroom, leaving the rest of his belongings to fend for themselves. It was too early in the morning to deal with this.

-x-

_Forget early, _Ron thought with annoyance, ducking as a sausage sailed over him, hitting Terry Boot at the Ravenclaw table behind him in the back of the head. _I don't want to deal with this at any time of day. _

Ron stood up somewhat cautiously, fully prepared to duck again if the situation required, glancing around for somewhere out of the line of fire to finish his meal. He came to the timely realisation that he had yet to make any progress on one of his resolutions.

-x-

Percy glanced up in some surprise as Ron slid into the seat next to him, but apparently decided not to comment on his uncharacteristic escape from the food fight. Of course, it probably wasn't quite as out of character as it would once have been.

"Good morning, Ron."

"Morning, Percy."

Silence.

Ron realised with mild distress that he didn't even know his brother well enough to be able to differentiate between an awkward silence due to not having properly spoken for—well, a while—and it simply being too early in the morning for a conversation. As the silence lengthened he shifted uncomfortably, and decided that it was probably the former.

"So," he said at last, "what subject have you got first?"

-x-

The day did not improve as it went on, although Ron did feel that he might have made some progress with Percy.

History of Magic was, if possible, even more boring and painful than usual; Hermione had just re-discovered one of the less orthodox uses of the quill, namely that of jabbing Ron at regular intervals in order to keep him awake and appearing to pay attention.

Charms was full of embarrassing reminders of his past immaturity, as Flitwick attempted to teach them to make feathers fly. Ron spent the lesson painstakingly avoiding saying anything which Hermione could possibly find in any way upsetting. Rescuing her from a mountain troll was one bonding experience that Ron would be more than happy to forego, especially without Harry there to jump on its back and create a distraction—which had been a remarkably stupid and reckless move, even for Harry, now that Ron thought about it.

In front of them, Dean and Seamus had had the amusing idea to tickle the back of Lavender's neck with their feather whenever she wasn't looking, and her shrieks, giggles and accusations were giving Ron a headache. Then too, his efforts at tact had worried Hermione so much that she had enquired after his health no fewer than five times, and offered to accompany him to the hospital wing twice.

On top of everything else, Charms was followed by Transfiguration, in which McGonagall—still convinced that Ron was some kind of child prodigy when it came to Transfiguration—spent a great of time hovering over him and offering advice, most of which he had already heard before. Ron had to be very careful not to say or do anything that she might find suspicious, as he was certain that one mistake would be all it would take for her to discover everything, or—worse still—go to Dumbledore with her suspicions.

On top of all the rest it was a Thursday, the day of their weekly library study group. This was made worse by the presence of both Lavender and Parvati, who giggled incessantly and claimed most of Hermione's attention. Ordinarily Padma would have provided him with someone to talk to, but she had taken the opportunity afforded by Cho's absence to corner Harry.

Ron had never been entirely sure what her fascination with Harry was. He had never noticed them exchanging anything more than polite hellos last time, but now she made excuses to spend time with him, to ask his opinion on things, to lend him books and offer advice...and she was always watching him, as though waiting for him to give some sort of sign. What that sign might be was a mystery to Ron, but whatever it was, it hadn't been given. As time passed, Padma looked increasingly puzzled and frustrated, while Harry usually just looked confused.

By the time study group was over Ron wanted nothing more than to return to his dormitory and sleep, but Hermione would have none of it. Unbothered by Ron's insensitive comments, she had apparently decided that witnessing Hallowe'en from a wizarding perspective rather than a muggle one would be a fascinating learning experience, and that it was necessary to have Ron beside her to explain any little detail that she might not fully understand. He tried pointing out that given the amount of research she had done she probably knew more about most wizarding traditions than he did, but she was adamant, and he was still hindered by his determination not to upset her in any way.

-x-

The Hallowe'en Feast went much as the rest of the day had. By the time that Quirrell dashed into the Great Hall to "warn" Dumbledore about the troll, Ron was desperate enough to welcome even that diversion.

"Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know."

Ron, watching critically, thought that the fainting was a slightly melodramatic touch, but like last time it all served its purpose. The Great Hall dissolved into total chaos. Dumbledore's spectacular golden firecrackers (_Wait a minute. Shouldn't they have been purple? _Ron wondered.) shocked everyone into temporary silence.

"Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Last time, Ron had been slightly disgusted by Percy's immediate assumption of control, but this time he recognised it for the sensible and responsible reaction that it was.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders!"—Okay, so _that _had been taking it a little too far, but he meant well—"Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

Ron glanced around automatically, checking on Harry and Hermione as he always had in situations like these. To Ron's immense relief, Hermione stood right beside him, but he felt an instant of panic when he was unable to locate Harry. Then he remembered the year's changes, and he searched for him across the Hall. The Slytherin table was in even worse chaos than the others were, and they had made no move to leave the Great Hall. Ron felt his face forming a sneer of disdain for their cowardice before he recalled that the Slytherin common room was located in the dungeons, the same place that Quirrell had reported the troll to be.

Looking more closely, he saw that what he had taken as a disorganised rabble was actually a large protective circle formed by all of Slytherin House except the prefects, who appeared to be trying to pin down a teacher for alternative directions. The older students, mostly sixth and seventh years, and a few fifth, formed the outer layer of the "circle", while the first years were at the centre, followed by the second years.

Once again Ron realised just how badly he had misjudged Slytherin House as a whole; they might behave horribly to the rest of the school, but it appeared that they looked after their own. Ron felt both amusement and gratitude when he realised that Harry, looking both intensely curious and quite annoyed, had been herded to the centre of the circle, along with a terrified-looking Draco Malfoy.

After that night in Godric's Hollow, when Harry had lost his parents, there had been an amazing range of contradictory rumours and theories floating about. Ron hadn't been much older than Harry at the time, so he didn't remember them all, if he had even heard them all. The only ones he remembered were the ones that persisted. These fell into three main categories.

The first was the rumour that Harry was some kind of saviour, born to rid the wizarding world of teh scourge that was the Dark Lord Voldemort. This was the theory that was most widely accepted and which grew in popularity after Harry arrived at Hogwarts, and defied Voldemort again and again and again.

The second theory was the one that Harry had always seemed to subscribe to, that he had simply been incredibly lucky—or unlucky, as the case might be. This theory stated that harry's survival was a fluke, and that his continued survival was also a fluke. Voldemort had tried very hard to peddle this version of events to his Death Eaters, with mixed results.

The third theory, though...Some said that it took incredible power, and dark power at that. Harry hadn't been much more than one year old the night he defeated Voldemort for the first time. This power was surely the reason that Voldemort had tried to kill the defenceless child in the first place. If his power was so immensely huge at the age of fifteen months, what feats could he achieve once his magic was fully trained and developed? What horrors might he wreak upon the world if he sought out power and followers? The wizarding world shuddered, and turned with relief to the first theory.

There were some, though, who would have welcomed such a possibility. Many Death Eaters felt that Harry Potter might be a new leader, a new figurehead for destruction. The Dark Lord's inner circle in particular had seen such a young and, presumably, malleable child as a great improvement over Lord Voldemort with his insanity, his erratic and violent temper, and his apparent conviction that regular torture was the only way to keep his followers loyal.

These hopes must have faded with Harry's Sorting into Gryffindor, and subsequent second defeat of Voldemort at the end of second year, along with his obvious distaste for all things Slytherin. Lucius Malfoy, rumoured to be one of those most in favour of the rise of the Dark Lord Potter—with himself as his most trusted and rewarded servant, naturally—must have been extremely disappointed with whatever disgusted reports of Harry's attitude were passed on to him by his son Draco.

Now, though, Harry was a Slytherin, and it seemed that Draco Malfoy was not the only Slytherin whose parents had given him orders to befriend Harry—and, apparently, protect him at all costs.

This was a _good _thing, Ron tried to convince himself. It meant that Harry would have less difficulty swaying Slytherins to the light side when Voldemort returned. The Harry that Ron had known would never allow himself to be swayed by the lure of power. There was no reason to think that this new version of Harry would either.

Shaking off a feeling of trepidation, Ron turned away from the Slytherins to catch up to the rest of the Gryffindor first years. For the moment, Harry seemed to be in safe hands, even if they were not the protectors that he would have chosen for his friend. For now, that would have to be enough.

**A/N: **I know I don't deserve reviews after such a long wait, but _please? _I am just recovering from writer's block, and I need all the encouragement I can get. *looks hopeful* Again, I am beyond sorry for how long this chapter took. Cinnamon.


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